


And In This Little Cellar, We Grow Like Weeds

by boomerangarrow



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn Romance, it's 3am why am i tagging, marvel AU, might become mature later, switched backgrounds, this is gonna be long, with some shenanigans probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10136171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boomerangarrow/pseuds/boomerangarrow
Summary: "Imagine the reverse of Clint Barton’s and Natasha Romanoff’s backstories.Imagine Clint, an orphan, raised from childhood as a notorious assassin. “Watch out for Hawkeye,” they say, “you can’t hide from him, he sees everything.”Imagine Natasha growing up in a circus, an acrobat. The Black Widow, the posters say, this tiny black and red thing in her web of ropes and ribbon. Imagine Natasha turned vigilante, turned Shield agent.Imagine that they send Natasha to take down Clint.Imagine that she traps him, but before she makes her move, she sees something behind those all-seeing eyes.Imagine that she makes a different call."The story of an acrobat and an assassin, an arachnid and an archer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by an amazing post I saw on tumblr. Credit for the idea goes to user [softbrobucky](http://softbrobucky.tumblr.com/post/125806756983/). I got permission to write this, and I'm super pumped about it. We'll see what happens.
> 
> As warning, updates might be a little slow, because I also work full-time and then some more on the side. But I'll do my best to update at least semi-regularly.
> 
> Also, "Black Air" is something I lifted from Wikipedia, I have zero knowledge of their actual importance or history in the Marvel comics universe but the name sounded good for what I was going for and I'm just gonna roll with it.

_Code name Hawkeye. Kill on sight._

Those were the most important parts of the thick file in front of Natalia. She had nodded, half-listening to Fury’s debrief as she read page after page. It was one hell of a file, too, she had to admit—pages of aliases with no lead on his actual name, confirmed and suspected kills, affiliations, miscellaneous crimes he’d been party to or perpetrated himself.

“ _Romanova._ ”

Her head jerked up, eyebrows high. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

The stern disappointment on his face wasn’t new to Natalia, really. She’d seen it a million times. “Of course, sir,” she soothed. “Hawkeye’s a dangerous man. Looks like he’s broken away from Black Air in the past few years, started freelancing. No loyalties anymore to keep him in check. Eliminating the target on sight is the most reasonable answer.”

Fury peered at her for a long moment before nodding, glare softening the smallest bit. “I agree. Don’t take any chances, Romanova. He’s dangerous.” The sentiment was unspoken, but she could infer it well enough.

With a small nod, she gathered up the papers and stood. “I’ll be careful. You know me.” Her smile wasn’t as reassuring as she’d meant it to be, but it never was. “Am I dismissed?”

“Go. Your flight to Beijing leaves in sixteen hours.”

“Plenty of time to study.” She grinned, giving Fury a slightly mocking salute before walking out the door.

\--

Clint idly thumbed through the small file he’d been given two days prior, despite having memorized it. His mark had been easy enough to find—it’d taken him less than a day to tail the older gentleman, and pick out his vantage point. The man got breakfast at the same place every day. It was almost _too_ easy, really, but the pay was worth it. He’d had a bit of a lull lately—being on the run was tedious, and it made consistency almost impossible. It was frustrating, and _boring_ , but he made do.

He didn’t feel the need to make his strike, yet. The kill didn’t need to be confirmed for a few days yet, and he wanted to get things organized. The plan was to set things up to kill the old bastard (or maybe old saint, it didn’t matter either way) where there wouldn’t be likely collateral damage. No need to make a mess, after all.

His eyes flicked to the door of his hotel room when there was a gentle rap. That was probably the breakfast he’d ordered, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. He grabbed a pistol as silently as he could, making his way to the door on light feet. When he opened it, though, he saw the smiling face of a hotel worker. The girl had been working yesterday, too, so he offered her a smile and some broken Mandarin as he slipped the gun into a holster. After some polite and stilted conversation he pretended to barely understand, he took the tray and shut the door again.

It was quiet as he ate, reading through the file for the millionth time. Nothing new had appeared, and he hadn’t expected it to, but it never hurt to check. He just hummed softly, and once he’d finished eating, he moved to clean and inventory his guns. Sure, he’d left the organization, but no need to abandon his routine.

\--

Natalia hadn’t slept too much—not that she especially felt a need to. She’d gotten _enough_ sleep the night before, between packing some clothes and brushing up on her Mandarin. And then, after she’d read the entire dossier, she’d boarded the quinjet. The flight would take long enough that she could get a nap in, at the very least.

Just as her eyes had closed, though, a man cleared his throat. “Romanova,” came the clipped tones of her handler. “Did you get briefed at all?”

With a sigh, her eyes opened, meeting Phil Coulson’s grey pair. “I did,” she said, shifting in her seat so she was sitting up straight. “I read the file Fury gave me, which I’m _assuming_ is plenty.”

“It should be,” Coulson said, giving her a tiny smile. “But I wanted to go over a few things with you. Just in case.”

Natalia tilted her head slightly, looking up at the older man with curiosity. “Such as?”

“A few things we’ve learned in the past twelve hours. For one, we did confirm--he is no longer working under Black Air. He’s been on the run for a while, looks like. We’ve found a few of his aliases popping up throughout Europe and Asia.”

“Well, obviously. Hence us going to Beijing.”

Coulson frowned slightly. “More, I mean. We’ve found a more discernable trail, matching up with some of our suspected hits, and a few that were earlier than the pattern we’d been following. And we might not be the only ones looking for him.”

“Sounds fun.” She crossed her arms, clenching her jaw to stifle the yawn trying to escape. “So do I need to watch my six for more than just Hawkeye?”

“You might, yes. We’re not sure if he’s being followed, but it never hurts.”

“Okay, so do my job, don’t die, kill the bad guy. I think I can manage that.”

That one got her one of Coulson’s near-imperceptible smiles. “I certainly hope so. But if you can’t, maybe my next agent will be easier to work with.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. And even if they were, you wouldn’t have nearly as much fun.”

“Or paperwork.”

Natalia laughed at that one, shaking her head. “You live for the paperwork. But is that it? I figure since plane rides suck and I’ve already read all the info, a nap is permissible.”

“Permission granted. Get some rest, Natalia. You’ve got a long mission ahead of you.”

\-- 

Daytime never suited Clint especially well. He was anxious, during the day—not so much that it interfered with his job, of course, but he much preferred to operate at night. Daytime made him easier to see, and easier to track. Whether it was enemies, targets, or bystanders, being noticed was bad. That had been drilled into him a million times over his years of training, and he had the marks to show for it.

None of those marks were new, though. He’d gotten better at sneaking, over the years. Blending in was one of his particular skills, even if it’d taken work, and he was grateful for it as he pretended to stumble his way through Mandarin. It was easy enough to get his food and sit at the little café, waiting for his mark to come by.

Today, though, there was someone else catching his eye: a redhead, loud and cheerful and flipping through a phrasebook. Her accent sounded odd to him—she definitely wasn’t American, but he couldn’t put his finger on what she was. It didn’t help that he was trying to hear it through some poorly-spoken Mandarin, either, but he just watched her over his coffee. After she’d managed to order, she looked around, then grinned when she noticed the only other white person at the place. Before he could frown, she was coming over and joining him at his table.

“Good morning!” Her voice was still loud and bright, but she had switched to English, thankfully. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you might know a thing or two about the area.” Her smile was infectious, and he couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from twitching upwards as she stuck out a hand. “I’m Nadya, sorry for intruding.”

Clint’s smile grew as he shook her hand. “Aaron,” he lied easily. “I don’t mind the intrusion at all, Nadya. What brings you to this side of town? It’s not too popular with the tourists, usually.”

“I got lost,” she admitted, smile turning sheepish. “I’ve been traveling for a while since graduating university—I’m a writer, and it seemed like a good plan. Everyone’s been so nice, so I’m not too worried. I’m sure I’ll make my way back to my hotel before long.”

“I hope so.” He looked back to the remains of his breakfast, then back to Nadya. “If it helps at all, they have some decent Western breakfast options here. Nothing _great,_ but they’ll do if you’re not familiar with local fare.”

“Oh, thank god,” she replied. “I won’t starve, then.” There was a pause as she glanced at her watch, then back to Clint. “What’s got you here, Aaron? Since you said yourself that this isn’t a tourist kind of place.”

“Business trip,” he said easily. Even better, it wasn’t exactly a lie. “Cheap hotels around here, if you know how to find ‘em.”

“Really? I’ll have to remember that next time I’m in this part of the world.” With another bright smile, she stretched, humming to herself. “I might grab a coffee and try to make my way back to where I’m meant to be. Is theirs any good here?”

“God-awful.” He smiled, though, finishing his cup. “I’m used to bad coffee, though. Never got the hang of making a decent cup.”

“Shame, that. I think I’ll just wait ‘til I find something a little more Western.” With that, she stood, stretching for a moment. “Nice meeting you, Aaron. Thanks for the conversation—it’s nice to hear a language I’m a little more familiar with.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Nadya. Have a nice trip.” He leaned back in his seat, glancing around for a moment. His mark hadn’t shown yet, thankfully. He still had time to do this the easy way. “Stay safe.”

“Oh, I shall.” With a wave, she was on her way. Clint let himself from appreciating the swing of her hips as she left, but soon let his focus go back to the job at hand. He had a _lot_ of money riding on it.

\-- 

Natalia ignored Coulson’s voice in her ear until she’d walked for ten minutes, using her phone to check periodically if Hawkeye had followed her from the café. Thankfully, there was no sign of him behind her, and she’d done enough doubling back and sudden turns to ensure her safety.

Finally, she answered her handler. “Could you stop yelling at me? You’re going to give me a migraine.”

“I’ll consider it,” came the annoyed voice, “when you actually answer me. What were you _thinking?_ ”

“I was _thinking_ that engaging the mark non-threateningly would make it easier to drop a tracker on him,” she replied, voice smooth as she kept walking. “And it worked. I stuck one of those barely-there ones on his wrist, kept him distracted enough that he didn’t notice a thing. You’ll see that he’s now visible in our system.”

There was a pause and some tapping, then a small sigh. “You did well,” Coulson admitted. “He’s on the move. But you really need to be more careful, Natalia. Stupid moves like that could get you killed one day.”

“And if that day comes, it will be entirely my fault. But today, the magic of being a pretty girl works.”

That got her another exasperated sigh. “You can’t rely on that forever, Nat.”

“Watch me.” There was a smirk on her lips as she made her way back to their rendezvous, gratefully taking the cup of coffee waiting for her. “I was planning on making my move tonight, once it got dark out. He wouldn’t still be here if he had taken out his mark. Also, were we taking bets on which alias he was under this time?”

“Do you think we can wait until tonight? I’d rather do this earlier, if we could. And no, we weren’t. But you guessed Jason.”

“I did, I did.” She took a long sip of her coffee, humming. “I don’t want to do this while it’s light out. I don’t want him to see me coming. Dusk is better, night is best.”

“Fair enough. What’s your plan of attack?”

“Pistol, up close. He’s a sniper, he’s dangerous at a distance. He’s strong, too, by the look of him, but I think I could win that fight if I had to. I’d rather just get my shots in and leave, but I’ve got a plan.”

“Thank god.” Coulson sighed again. “Do you care to enlighten me?”

“It’s not _that_ solid of a plan. It’s… Nebulous.”

“So no plan?”

“Maybe fifteen percent of a plan.”

\-- 

Clint was irate as he checked through his gear. The mark hadn’t shown up after all—poison was out the window. It would’ve been so much _cleaner,_ honestly, and he would’ve been done by now. But no. Now he had to break out the big gun (or, in this case, bow) and do things the messy way. Perfect.

The redhead from earlier had been in his mind as he followed the mark in the fading light. She’d been gorgeous. It’d been a long time since he’d allowed himself to be distracted by a pretty face, and she was an especially nice distraction. Her accent had been… Russian, maybe? But somehow softer? He hadn’t been able to place it. Not that it mattered, of course, because he wasn’t about to see her ever again. But it’d been a nice moment in a shitty life.

Once he was done setting up, though, he shook the thoughts from his mind. He had bigger things to worry about for now, and it wouldn’t do to dwell on some stranger. Instead, he looked out over the edge of the roof he’d picked to hide out on. He had a good view of the business (a front) the mark had entered—it was the only exit, too. So now Clint just had to wait.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it got darker. The mark still hadn’t left the building, and Clint was just… Waiting, mostly. Peering through the scope he’d brought. This was the boring part, but the most important, he reminded himself. Ignore that itch. Never mind the cramp in his thigh.

After a long while, though, something unexpected happened. A footstep, another. The vibrations were barely noticeable, but he knew they were unusual. It was a long-abandoned building. Nobody was supposed to be there. With a deep breath, he rolled, pulling back and releasing an arrow towards where he assumed the person was.

There was a flash of red hair as the intruder dodged the arrows, then the sound of gunfire. Clint swore as a bullet grazed his arm, but he got his feet under him and nocked another arrow. Once he focused on the figure, his eyes went wide. _No._

“Nadya, wasn’t it?” He was a little breathless, arrow pointed straight at her chest.

The redhead smiled, tight but with a little humor. “Something like that,” she replied. “Y’know, I didn’t think you’d notice I was here. Would’ve been much easier for the both of us, really.”

“Would it really?”

“Absolutely. My job would be done, you’d be too dead to worry about your mark getting away… We’d both win.” She still had her finger on the trigger of her pistol, and Clint noticed that her hands were steady. “You could still help me out, too. Just stay real still, it’ll all be done in a second.”

That made Clint smile again, but only for a fraction of a second. “I’m afraid I’ve never been one for the easy choices,” he admitted. “But if you could tell me who sent you, I’d be grateful.”

“Nobody you’ll need to worry about.” She shrugged a little, gun still trained on him. “Not much closure for you there, sorry.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” With that, he let the arrow fly, unsurprised that she had already started to dive out of the way. It missed her, but he had already drawn a different arrow—this one had a line attached to it. One spike in the tar paper roof, and then he loosed the arrow. The line wouldn’t hold well, and he’d probably fall half the way to the ground, but it was a start. It only took a moment for him to grab his bag and jump, using his bow to slide down the line towards the next building. He had almost made it to the lower warehouse when three more shots rang out, and one found its mark. He hissed in pain, landing on the roof gracelessly as his right shoulder flared with pain. _Not_ good.

It was a struggle, but he managed to find the stairs down from the roof. The warehouse was big, and mostly empty—that could be a bit of an advantage, but it also meant no cover. Still, he had things to do, so he kept running. He made it through that warehouse, then into the next one and the next after that, with no new wounds. Still, the rush of adrenaline from the first shot was starting to get to him, make his breath a little shaky as he slid into the fourth building.

Once he found some cover, he sat, taking in a few deep breaths. Then he glanced over and saw blood. More blood than he’d expected, too. _Damn._ His hands were shaking as he grabbed some gauze from his bag, and he pressed it against the wound with a hiss. This wasn’t going well at all.

\--

Natasha watched as Hawkeye made his way into the warehouse, sighing a little. “Coulson, you there?”

“What did you do?” Thankfully, there was only a hint of accusation in the professional tones of her handler.

“He’s better than I expected. I didn’t get the drop on him as well as I’d have liked.”

“Did he get away?”

“Yes, but not far. I got him through the shoulder on his escape, tracker says he’s mobile but not fast. I’m in pursuit now.”

“Excellent. Stay safe, and kill on sight.”

“Can do, sir.” With that, she made her way back down to the street level and started following the tracker. She noticed after a moment that he’d stopped moving—either he’d found the tracker (unlikely, after it’d stayed intact all day) or the shock was setting in. Either option meant she didn’t have long, so she picked up her pace.

Four buildings over, she slipped into the warehouse. There was blood on the floor, small dots that were fresh. That had been easier than she’d expected, and she had to wonder if he’d noticed the drops falling. Silently, she followed the trail, gun at the ready as she rounded a stack of pallets.

It was strange, seeing a man she knew to be deadly sitting on the ground. His eyes were closed, and he was pressing something to his wound. He couldn’t have known she’d be able to follow so easily. That gave her pause, a frown creeping across her features even as she had her gun trained on him.

After a very long, tense moment, she spoke up. “Hawkeye.”

His eyes flew open, tension clear on his face as he reached for his bow. He paused when she shot a foot away from his open hand. “Nadya,” came his reply, oddly calm. “You’re better than the usual crowd.”

“That’s because I’m better than most,” she said easily. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Bleeding. Turns out being shot makes you bleed, how about that.”

She kept the gun pointed at him, but her expression softened. “You seem relaxed.”

“Well, if I’m gonna die, no sense being stressed about it. Plus, hey, no more shoulder pain. I’d call that a win.” There was the hint of a smile on his face again. “Black Air sent you?”

“No. I’m not one of those kids they picked up and trained.” She tilted her head. “You ready to end this, Hawkeye?”

“Clint. Clint Barton.” He looked at her, still pressing his hand to his shoulder. “Might as well die me, right?”

“Clint, then.” That definitely gave her pause, and she lowered her weapon slightly. “I’m Natalia.” There was a pause as Natalia considered her options. Kill Barton, end mission, go home and get some sleep. Or…

“Nice to meet you, Natalia. Sorry it’s so short a meeting.” He was watching her, eyes clear. He glanced down to her weapon as she let it drop slightly, but he didn’t make another grab for his bow. “You gonna shoot me or what?”

“I was thinking ‘or what.’” She smiled slightly, finger still on the trigger. “I might have an offer for you.”

Clint blinked, a little surprised. “Alright then. I’d say shoot, but I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

That got a small laugh, and her smile got a little wider. “So. I’m with SHIELD, back in America. And I was thinking, _maybe_ , that I could have some pull. I could bring you back with me, if you’re willing to be a decent agent. Give your life a bit of an extension.”

“And the other option is…?”

“I shoot you in the gut and file my nails as I watch you die on the dirty floor of a warehouse in Beijing.”

“That’s a bit of a run-on sentence, Natalia.”

“English wasn’t my first language. Thoughts?”

“Your accent is pretty impeccable for it being a second language.”

“Third. Thank you.”

Clint smiled, brief and small, but let the silence stretch for a moment. “And if I come with you to SHIELD. What does that get me?”

“A chance for something better. A little more protection from your old buddies over at Black Air.” She shrugged. “You’d be an asset, maybe upgrade yourself to agent before too long. It’s not the best life, but it’s a better one.”

“And option b is… Dying.”

“On the dirty floor of a warehouse in Beijing, yes.”

“Well, option a doesn’t sound too bad in comparison.”

She shrugged again. “I’d say it’s marginally better.”

“But who’s to say I make it back to America? I’m kind of bleeding already.”

“We’ll get you there.”

“We?”

“Privileged information.”

There was another pause as Clint considered his options. Admittedly, they were few, but they existed. But after another press of the gauze to his shoulder, he nodded. “Alright, fine. I’ll come with you. Sounds better than dying.”

“Good call.” She smiled. “Now give me a second to get the bow and any other weapons away from you, and then I’ll call up my SO for extraction.”

“Yeah, I’m not too likely to do anything at this point. But sure.” He lifted his spare hand, watching Natalia pluck his two knives and one handgun from his person. “That’s everything. Scout’s honor.”

“Perfect.” She put those and the bow and quiver into his duffel, then tapped her ear with two fingers. “Coulson, you copy?”

“I copy. Status?”

“Complete. Extraction required, coordinates incoming.”

“Copy that. Be there in five.”

The line went silent after that, and she tapped her earpiece again as she turned to Clint. “He’s gonna be _pissed,_ ” she told him softly. “You better be worth it.”

Clint just smiled, letting his head fall back against the boxes behind him. “I’ll try.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise I'll always update this quickly, but insomnia's a killer so I figured might as well put up chapter 2.

The wait seemed to drag on forever.

Whether it was due to her emotions or the actual passage of time, Natalia wasn’t sure. After thirty seconds, she moved to the floor, pressing the gauze to the wound in Clint’s shoulder.

Clint, surprisingly enough, didn’t groan. He just smiled, slightly, looking at her. “You really trust me, huh?”

She turned her head to face him, pointedly rolling her eyes. “Not especially. But you’re wounded, and you’re bleeding. I’m not going to let you die before you have a chance to prove yourself.”

“And here I was thinking I had already proven something.”

“Only that I’m a better spy than you.” There was a smirk that she couldn’t force away, and it only grew when Clint gave her an inquisitive look. “I put a tracker on you this morning when I made contact. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it.”

“Seriously?” He frowned, hands clenching for a moment. “Where and how?”

“Wrist, when I shook your hand. You shouldn’t be so easily distracted.”

He groaned softly. “In my defense, I don’t get too many girls looking my way. Not the way you pretended to, anyway.”

“Sounds like a massive lapse in your training.”

“Oh, that was _explicitly_ trained.”

Natalia just hummed, nodding a little. When she heard footsteps, she jerked up, pulling away to peer over the edge of the boxes. Thankfully, it was Coulson, and he smiled his tiny smile when he spotted her red hair. “Romanova,” he called. “Come on. Quinjet’s waiting for us. Is the target neutralized?”

She sighed, glancing over to Clint as Coulson walked over. “Sort of,” she admitted, rising to her feet. “But also not exactly as planned.”

“What does ‘not as planned’ mean?” Coulson’s tone was a bit clipped, and he was frowning as he walked closer. When he was close enough, he finally saw Clint, and his jaw clenched. “Natalia, explain what’s happening _now._ ”

She shifted slightly, defiance in her eyes even as she moved to a parade rest. “I wounded the target and pursued,” came her answer, her back straightening. “When I found him, he was in no shape to retaliate. New information arose. I felt that the target would be better suited as an asset.”

The amount of anger on Coulson’s face was surprising to Natalia—she’d never seen him like that before. He’d been annoyed with her, or impatient, or frustrated, but never _angry._

After a tense moment, Coulson drew in a slow breath. “Romanova. You have no authority to make this decision.”

“I’m aware.” That defiance was still there, poorly hidden beneath her professional veneer.

“Then _why?_ ”

She considered her words carefully, lips pressing together for a moment. “It’s the right call.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, sir.”

That pulled a sigh out of Coulson, one hand coming up to rub his temples. “You’re going to catch hell for this, Romanova.”

“I’m fine with that. I’ve caught it before, I’ll catch it again.”

“This is different. You disobeyed direct orders from Director Fury. Are you sure you’re willing to take these consequences?”

She glanced to Clint, whose eyes had closed again, then back to Coulson. “I’m sure, Phil.”

After a long moment, Coulson nodded. It was short and sharp, but it still meant she had his approval. “Get him up and onto the quinjet. We’ll stabilize him there, and we can get him to medical when we touch down in DC. _You_ can explain why he’s still alive to Fury.”

Natalia smiled, brief but bright, as she crouched down to help Clint to his feet. “Happily,” she murmured. “C’mon, Clint, time to get up.”

That got a tiny laugh from Coulson, who shook his head as he gathered up the disposed weaponry. “One of the most dangerous assassins in the world, and his name is _Clint?_ ”

“Clinton, actually,” came a mumble from the blond in question. “Clinton Barton.”

\--

Clint was fading in and out of real consciousness, time passing in a vague blur. He could remember Natalia’s handler arriving, and getting into some kind of airplane, but not much else. There were foggy pieces mixed in—Natalia sitting by him as he laid in a bed, Natalia and her handler exchanging hushed but sharp words, pain from his shoulder. But that was about it.

Eventually, he was shaken back into consciousness. He wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but Natalia was still in her dark clothes she’d been in since the rooftop. That was probably a good sign, he figured, and he let her help him sit up. “What’s happening?” His voice sounded muffled to him, and a little strange—but he could still feel his hearing aids, the in-ear devices he was so grateful for. Hardly noticeable, and blessedly tracker-free. It’d been a hard sell, back with Black Air, but he’d managed it.

“We’ve landed,” she said softly, giving him a smile. “You’re going to medical. They’re going to be doing all the standard detaining methods—try not to panic.”

“There’s worse things than handcuffs,” he replied, shifting to tap the device in his left ear. After a few taps, things sounded normal again. He must’ve rolled onto that side at some point, he figured. “And where are you going?”

“To get chewed out.” Her shoulders bobbed in a shrug, and she had that mischievous smirk on her face again. It seemed at home there, like it was her favorite way to smile. “You’d better be worth it.”

There were those words again. It wasn’t a new sentiment, to him. He’d heard it constantly throughout his years of training with Black Air, but when she said it, it sounded almost affectionate. From her, it wasn’t a threat. “I’ll try.” It was what he’d said earlier, and the most casual reply he’d ever had to that.

“You better. I hate to get reamed for nothing.” Her voice was light, the smile still in place as she helped him out of the quinjet. The team that approached was professional, but gave the two of them wary looks before turning to Coulson.

“Take the asset to medical,” Coulson ordered. “All necessary precautions. He’s still a threat, until Director Fury notifies us otherwise. Treat him as such.” There was a murmur of assent, and Clint was quickly handcuffed. Before he could speak again, he was whisked away, armed escorts in tow.

\--

Natalia glanced over to Coulson, now that they were alone again. “Well?”

“Well what?” Coulson’s eyebrow lifted, ever so slightly. The man had _mastered_ microexpressions, and it fascinated her. She could do well enough, but the man was an expert.

She stared at him for a long moment, watching his face carefully before she spoke again. “Did I do the right thing?”

A few things crossed Coulson’s face—anger, sympathy, uncertainty, other things she still couldn’t quite read. He took a deep breath, and she knew he was considering his words. “I don’t know.”

It was rare to hear that from Phil Coulson, and Natalia blinked in surprise. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t know,” he agreed. “We’ll have to see. Do _you_ think you did the right thing?”

“I think so,” she answered. “It _felt_ like the right thing.”

“I’m going to trust you.” He smiled, then, and it sent a wave of relief through Natalia. She’d been waiting for that, even if she hadn’t realized it. “I’ll stand by your decision. But you have to defend it.”

“Of course, sir. I appreciate the support.”

“You’re welcome, Romanova. You owe me one, though.” With that, he started walking, knowing she’d follow. It wasn’t a surprise when she fell into step next to him, both knowing the familiar path to Fury’s office. “And you can’t get out of this one with buying me a nice bottle of scotch. I’m holding onto this one.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Damn.” Her hands went up, fidgeting with the tie on the bun she’d pulled her red curls into. They fell out in a tangled wave, and she made a face as she tried to fix some of them. “What if I painted your apartment?”

“You don’t even know where I live, let alone if it needs painted.”

Her fingers kept working through the snags, amusement clear even as she struggled with her hair. “I definitely know where you live.”

“You’re not _supposed_ to.”

“Then make your file harder to access, Phil.” Her grin returned as she managed to undo the worst knots with her fingers, hair tie slipping around her wrist. “You ready to get verbally eviscerated, sir?”

“Not especially.” He stopped in front of the door to Fury’s office, looking to Natalia. “You ready?”

“Always am.” With the kind of certainty only afforded to the unabashed, she opened the door. “Good morning, Director.”

There was silence as she and Coulson stepped in, sitting in the chairs across from Fury’s desk. Fury was _glaring,_ which was somehow more intimidating with the eyepatch. Once the agents in front of him were settled, he leaned forward in his chair. “Agents,” he started, voice more level than Natalia had expected. “Report.” Coulson started to clear his throat, but Fury looked at the man disapprovingly. “I’d like to hear Agent Romanova’s report,” Fury clarified, voice _flat._

“Of course,” she breathed, mouth a little drier than she’d thought it’d be. The dead tone was more worrisome than shouting—at least she was used to being shouted at by Fury. “After arriving in Beijing, I made contact with the target. I placed a tracker on him, and followed it to his location later that day. After shooting him through the right shoulder, I pursued him to a warehouse. Upon gaining new information, I made an executive decision to alter the mission parameters.”

“An executive decision.” The fact that it was a statement, not a question, made Natalia shift in her seat. Fury just leaned back into his chair, fingers steepled. “Agent Romanova, what clearance level are you?”

“Level six, sir.”

“Right, of course.” He looked over to her, single eye focused clearly on her face. “I understand that level six is a relatively high level of responsibility, but I am _fairly_ certain that it does not, in fact, give you the authority to… What was the phrase you used? ‘Alter the mission parameters’?”

“I’m aware of my rank, sir,” she started, hands clenching into fists in her lap. “But I also recall that I am often a solo operative in the field, with one handler to give authorization. I feel that I am capable of making decisions based on new information, even if it drastically changes my mission outcome.”

The director slammed his hands on the desk, a sudden and brief moment of action and noise that made Natalia flinch. To his credit, Coulson stayed still, expression stony. Fury, meanwhile, was still focused on the redhead. “Did you get _any_ approval before making that _stupid-ass_ decision?”

“She did,” Coulson answered. “I gave her full approval to use her discretion.”

 _That_ shifted Fury’s attention. “And her _discretion_ involves returning with a dangerous and unpredictable assassin that she was under explicit orders to _kill_?”

“It did in this case, yes,” Coulson replied blandly. “I trust my agent. The only times she’s broken protocol are when she’s felt it would be the better choice. If she thinks bringing in Hawkeye is the best outcome, I trust her decision.” It filled Natalia with friendly affection and _far_ too much gratitude for her handler to hear that from him, lips pressing together to suppress the smile.

Fury glared for a long moment, eye narrowed at the two of them. “ _Fine._ ” The weight to that single word was ominous as he looked between the agents seated before him. “Romanova. Until he can be proven a good asset, Hawkeye is _your_ problem. You can babysit him until he shows his worth. If he isn’t valuable, he _will_ be eliminated. Am I understood?”

Natalia nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. And Coulson, we’ll need to have a discussion about your agent’s _discretion._ ”

“Of course, sir.” Coulson still sounded calm, which was nothing short of impressive to Natalia.

Fury sighed, sitting back in his chair again. “I expect reports on my desk by tomorrow, agents. Get the hell out of my office—you’re dismissed.”

Natalia stood so fast that her chair wobbled on two legs, and Coulson followed her at a steadier pace as she left the office.

Once the door was closed behind them, she let out a shaky breath. “That went better than expected.”

Coulson just sighed. “You _definitely_ owe me.”

\--

Clint was trying to cooperate with his doctors, but being cuffed to a hospital bed wasn’t exactly endearing them to him. They’d done something after knocking him out, and his shoulder was healing up nicely. At the very least, it didn’t hurt quite as much anymore. Granted, that may have been the morphine he assumed they’d dosed him with, but he wasn’t about to complain.

He drifted in and out of hazy unconsciousness for a while, until he saw Natalia’s bright hair (and the rest of her) enter the room. That caught his attention, and he struggled back into the waking world.

“Hey,” she said softly, dragging a chair up to his bedside. “How’s medical treating you?”

“It’d be better without the cuffs,” he admitted, giving her an aborted shrug. “But can’t complain. I’m still alive, right? Means I’m still worth something to someone.”

That made Natalia smile. “I’m hoping we can get those off of you soon enough. Depends on how you heal up, and how much shit I’m in for with Director Fury.” After a moment, she motioned to her ear with one hand. “So are those hearing aids or comm pieces?”

“Hearing aids.” That wasn’t information he gave out so easily, on a normal day, but so far things were far from typical. “I’m deaf.”

“Hm.” There was a pensive look on her face, her thoughts clearly stirring. “How deaf?”

“Profoundly.”

“And these hearing aids bring you up to normal?”

“Close enough to it that it doesn’t matter. Most days, I’m not using my ears as much as my eyes.”

“Makes sense.” She nodded slightly, humming as she leaned forward. “Were you born deaf, or did it happen?”

“It was gradual, sort of.” The questions were making him uncomfortable, but he knew they’d come eventually. Might as well treat it like he was given a new handler—which, in a way, was true. “My dad beat me around when I was a kid, caused some hearing loss. I was healing up when Black Air first took me in, and got better. Then some more being beat around, plus a lot of gunfire and explosions… Eventually, it got worse again.”

“Doesn’t do to disable your agents,” she said softly, frowning. “Does not having them affect your performance?”

The show of sympathy, brief though it was, caught Clint off guard. He hadn’t expected her to be _nice._ Not like that. People were never nice to him. “It, uh… A little?” His eyes squeezed shut when the words slipped out, and he took a deep breath. “Sorry. I meant that they do, some. I have some severe hearing loss, so I can’t really understand what people are saying. I can read lips, which isn’t as useful as you would hope it is, and I know ASL and a little BSL.”

“Got it.” She watched him carefully, letting silence lapse for a moment. It wasn’t until Clint was fidgeting and glancing away that she spoke again. “You don’t need to apologize for speaking casually, you know.”

He looked away again, nodding once. “Understood. I’ll try to remember that.” The word ‘ma’am’ almost slipped out, but he managed to keep it in. Some things had been ground in, and it was hard to let go of those habits. He’d been punished too many times in the past for his lack of professionalism, and the fact that he’d been so familiar with Natalia already was starting to eat at him. “Did you speak to the director yet?” Asking that question felt too far, too pushy, and his hands clenched for a second in anticipation of a reprimand.

Instead, she just took him in, watching his reactions. “I did,” she answered. “He’s… Upset. But he’ll get over it.” Her little smirk came back, but it wasn’t quite as confident as it’d been before she left. “I’m pretty sure I’m on base duty for a while. You’re going to be under my watch until…” She paused, trying to think. It hadn’t been exactly clear to her, honestly, and she was in no hurry to ask Fury for clarification. “Until you’re cleared as an asset, I suppose.”

“Got it.” Clint sighed, trying to relax back into the pillow under his head. “I assume that means I’m on base until they clear me.”

“Afraid so.” Her smile was more genuine again, sympathetic and friendly and warm all rolled into one. “So do you have any questions for me?”

“As many as you’ll allow me to ask,” he answered easily. “First one, though—when can I get out of here? I’m feeling better, and I don’t like hospitals.”

“It’s not a hospital.”

“Fine, hospital-like settings.”

Her head bobbed in a nod as she looked around, then stood up. “I’ll see what I can make happen. Give me five minutes.” With a smile and a tiny wave, she left the room. Clint was alone again, other than the agent with the gun sitting in the corner, and a sigh slipped out as he closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, Natalia returned as promised. “Okay, I got the go-ahead. Coulson says there’s some quarters set up where we can get you set up. They’re secured—they don’t exactly trust you to not make a run for it yet.”

“I mean, I’m not in any shape to do much. I’d rather not fuck up my shoulder. I use that a lot.” He looked at her as she signaled the agent in the corner, a little surprised. “But I understand.”

“Good. It’s not going to have much, as warning. Think bed, desk, bathroom. I’ll be in the next one over, once I move some things in there.” She sighed, taking the key to the cuffs the agent handed her. “I’m going to unlock you now—don’t do anything stupid.”

“Ma’am, I _am_ something stupid,” he mumbled, lying still as the cuffs were unlocked.

The only response that got from her was a concerned look that briefly flashed across her face. Once he was freed, she stepped back, watching him warily. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

“It’s all I know how to do.” Carefully, he pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the hospital bed. “Does cooperation get me clean clothes?”

That made her smile again, sending relief through Clint that he hadn’t expected. “Yes, it does,” she told him with amusement in her voice. “And hot water in your shower, if you’re lucky.”

“Then I’ll cooperate to the ends of the earth.”


End file.
